


World of Our Own

by Leryline



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, LISTEN PERIOD CRAMPS SUCK LET ME LIVE.............., Menstruation, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 15:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8407321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leryline/pseuds/Leryline
Summary: Ushijima knows that the world is not kind to women. It’s times like these when women have to care for themselves.





	

**Author's Note:**

> sup my uterus is beating me up so i did this to make myself feel better

“Tōru?” Ushijima calls as she tentatively opens the door; it’s unusual for Oikawa to leave it unlocked like this, especially when she’s holed up in her room, which is also particularly unusual for this time of day. It’s late in the afternoon, the day only just retaining the waning brightness of earlier hours, a distinct blue haze balancing on the horizon and foretelling the fall of the evening.

There’s no reply.

Ushijima lets herself into the Oikawas’ home, slipping off her shoes and lining them up neatly beside Oikawa’s own. She closes the door, locking it behind her, and begins to retrace the journey to Oikawa’s room – a journey she’s become all too familiar with.

Nobody else appears to be home – admittedly, Ushijima is glad for it. She’d never met Oikawa’s parents before, mainly due to the fact that their relationship is still a secret. Nobody knows that the venom Oikawa injects into their public conversations is all a façade. It’s as fake as her overbearing confidence, but rather than being hurt by it, Ushijima finds it endearing.

When she gets to Oikawa’s bedroom, she finds the door stood ajar. Pushing past it, she quietly enters the room, setting down the plastic bag she brought on the floor at the foot of Oikawa’s bed. Oikawa’s room is so bright – it’s all pastel colours and harajuku accessories hanging from wads of blu-tac on the walls. Volleyball posters, idol posters, an old television set hidden behind a stack of sports magazines. Ushijima has to pick her way through the clothes strewn across the carpet.

She lays the back of her hand against Oikawa’s forehead; the setter is sleeping, her breaths coming slow and easy from between parted lips. She’d cocooned herself up in her blankets, only her head sticking out from the top, her hair strewn over the pillows. Ushijima continues to stroke her fingers down her cheek until Oikawa’s eyes begin to flutter.

“Mmh,” Oikawa hums sleepily. Ushijima can’t help but notice how long her eyelashes are. How pink her lips look. The urge to kiss them grows unbearable, rising in her chest like a stone, and she leans forwards to let their mouths brush together. She can taste the sweetness of Oikawa’s breath – it tastes like toothpaste, though is also strangely reminiscent of the sea. “Ushiwaka-chan, you came…”

Ah, shit. Her voice is so _cute_. Especially when she’s this sleepy, still vulnerable and oblivious to the world. For that moment, all she knows is the young woman kneeling beside her bed with her dark eyes and her dark hair and her big, strong hands. When Ushijima replies, she does so slowly, letting the smallest of smiles lilt her tone. “Of course I did.”

“I feel like shit,” Oikawa moans, throwing an arm over her eyes. She kicks aside the covers, then, revealing her fawn-printed pyjamas and a fuzzy purple heat pack clutched over her abdomen. “Today’s worse, somehow… I went to the doctor but they said not to worry about it. They didn’t even give me any painkillers.” She pouts those pretty lips of hers and Ushijima can’t help but kiss them again. Her hair falls over her shoulder, shielding them from the light of the window, and Oikawa smiles at her for the first time that afternoon. A long, beautiful hand comes up between their faces, fingertips trailing over Ushijima’s lips. “Though I have to say I’m already feeling better.”

Ushijima knows that the world is not kind to women. It’s times like these when women have to care for themselves.

Before arriving, Ushijima had stopped at the corner store by the train station and had picked up a few packets of pads, a block of caramel chocolate (Oikawa’s favourite), a box of painkillers, and one of Oikawa’s favourite trashy magazines.

“That time of month, eh?” the old man had asked her, flashing her a smile devoid of a number of teeth. Ushijima hadn’t liked that. He’d said it as though it was a joke. So she hadn’t replied, had handed over her money, and left.

She takes the heat pack from Oikawa; it’s heavy and lukewarm in her hands. In exchange, she gives Oikawa the chocolate, and also pulls out a small container of soup her mother had given her before she’d left home. Ushijima’s mother knows all about Oikawa – after all, Ushijima had never been able to keep her mouth shut when it came to Oikawa Tōru. She’d offered her daughter a sympathetic smile, one that Ushijima feels she ought to pass onto Oikawa herself.

“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” Oikawa laughs as Ushijima returns with a newly microwaved heat pack. “I’m used to this.”

Again Ushijima knelt down by her bed. “Familiarity with pain doesn’t mean you have to suffer it.”

The look Oikawa gives her is funny. She tilts her head to the side, her hair hanging from its bun in messy tangles. Her face looks washed-out without make-up, but Ushijima sort of likes it that way; she notices how Oikawa’s eyelashes grow blonde at the ends.

Oikawa reaches out to Ushijima, pushing the long hair back from her face and securing it there with a sparkly hair-clip. “You look ridiculous,” she laughs. “But also super cute.”

Somehow, Ushijima ends up lying alongside Oikawa in her bed. She’s too tall for it; her feet hand over the edge of the mattress, but with Oikawa curled into her side like a little cat, she finds she doesn’t really mind. As Oikawa dozes off, Ushijima combs her fingers through the setter’s hair, untangling the knots and kinks until it lies fragrant and soft in her palms.

“You’re so good to me,” Oikawa sighs contentedly against Ushijima’s neck. “I love you.”

Ushijima isn’t sure whether she’s dreaming or not. In the end she decides it doesn’t matter.

“I love you too.”


End file.
